


A Moment of Peace

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drinking & Talking, F/M, Old Married Couple, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Councilor Sparatus and his wife discuss the day and their past over a couple glasses of wine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> another one for non-shepard ships week lads.... my most important canon/oc ship..........

The turian embassy was nearly deserted as Aediteia walked through, the clacking of her toe-claws on tile echoing off the walls. Nearly an hour after regular hours, almost everyone had gone home for the day. Only a few office lights were still on, with a lone stray intern fixing a cup of tea in the corner. The main lights had been dimmed, so the holo-locks on the closed doors glowed especially bright.

Her goal was the orange lock at the far end of the embassy, which cheerfully turned green at her approach. Selective bio-recognition; had to love it. The doors parted at a graze of her talon, and cold tile gave way to plush carpet beneath her feet, soft and thick enough that she couldn’t feel the cement that held it up.

Only the best for the councilor.

Across the room, beyond a step down, a couple cabinets, and two couches facing each other, with his back to a window with half-shuttered blinds, her mate squinted at his glowing terminal. The lights were off, the room only lit by the terminal’s display and what synthesized lights from the Presidium made it through the slots in the blinds. He’d always preferred natural lighting, back on Palaven, and the dusky gloom of the Wards was a perennial target for complaint. But the Presidium’s clock had already begun its descent into the night cycle, and the room was darker than it should be as she ghosted across the room.

“You know, you’re going to go blind one of these days, and it’s all going to be because you don’t turn on the lights when you should,” she mused, running her hand over the nameplate that declared the owner of the desk to be CNCLR. IERIAN SPARATUS in the ugly blocks of Galactic Standard script.

There was a quiet snort, and Ierian turned his head ever-so-slightly to check the time in the corner of the screen. “We both know that’s just a myth. Is it time already?”

She flicked one mandible and folded her arms under her keel. “True. But your almighty optometrist sister can’t say the headaches are a myth, now, can she? And yes, dear.”

Ierian pulled up his omni-tool and checked the display, then grumbled and tapped a few keys. “Sorry, Teia. The alarm function on this old thing hasn’t been working again.” He dismissed his ’tool, then leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes. “Spirits… What time do we have to be at your mother’s?”

She gave him a small smile, then turned and wandered past him to the far wall, gaze roaming over the frames hanging there. “Not for a couple hours. We still have plenty of time.”

The wheels on his chair caught on the carpet, and her mandibles flickered at the sound. “Then perhaps you’ll indulge me.”

Padded footsteps crossed the room behind her, followed by the groan of old hinges and the clinking of glass. “Drinking already, dear?” she asked, already turning to watch. Her mandibles flicked upward and she added, “You haven’t even _seen_ my family yet.”

He paused to glance over at her, one brow plate and mandible each lowered with the other raised. “I’ll have you know,” he said, going back to the cabinet, “that I have had a _very_ long day, and I think I’m allowed a drink or two with my wife.”

She couldn’t help it. A hand went up over her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle a giggle, and her traitorous subvocals sang her amusement and acquiescence. “Okay, I’ll bite,” she said, moving her hand back down to rest against the side of her cowl. “What happened?”

Ierian drew out a pair of glasses and a bottle of wine, shaking his head. _“Matriarchs.”_ The hostile subvocals that rolled out of his cowl made the word into a curse. “The asari have their crests in a snarl over the budget. I spent so long listening to grandstanding, I don’t even remember what the _problem_ is.”

Aediteia lowered her mandibles in a grimace and accepted a glass from him, holding it out so he could pour the wine in. “Poor baby,” she simpered. “Did Valern share his booze this time?”

“He said he was going to need all of it for himself. So I certainly hope your parents’ liquor cabinet is well-stocked.” He filled both their glasses, then placed the bottle on his desk.

She clinked her glass against his, then turned back to the wall. “Believe me, with four children, they got in the habit of _never_ letting it get low,” she mused, moving closer to read what Ierian had painstakingly arranged.

He _hrmm_ ed. “We only had _three,_ and I don’t blame them. What are you looking at?”

She didn’t answer at first, more focused on the wall of frames. Each small screen displayed a different article from the news, webbing out from the center. The coveted middle spot was his law degree, of course- it seemed almost like a requirement for professionals to hang their diplomas and licenses on a wall for all to see. Next to it was the announcement by his predecessor that he would take her place, after the PR disaster of Relay 314 forced her to step down, complete with quotes from her glowing praise.

The further from the center, the older the articles, all with headlines bragging of another imperial victory in the xenocriminal courts, and the prized prosecutor who won it for them. “I haven’t really looked at these before,” she hummed, lazily swirling her wine. “You didn’t tell me you kept headlines.”

His vaguely embarrassed thrum came at her elbow, and an arm wrapped around her waist. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“I guess it’s really not.” She took a drink, then turned her head to nudge the side of his cowl with the flat of her nasal plates. “Still. It’s nice to remember I landed such a talented husband.”

His subvocals roiled. _Bashful proud flattered affectionate modest_. “You’re a reporter. You know as well as I do those publications are prone to exaggeration.”

She lifted her head again, raising a brow plate. “You’re the _councilor,_ Ierian. It’s okay to admit you’re good at what you do.”

He hummed, a noncommittal sound as he examined the headlines and drank. “Would you believe I miss being on the other side of the bench?” he mused. “I enjoy being councilor, but when it comes to the judiciary aspect…” He sighed, and Aediteia’s cowl ached with the wistful subvocal that rolled through it. “Prosecution was just so… I don’t know how to _describe_ it, Teia. I was _alive_.”

She lifted her mandibles and rested her head on his shoulder. “I seem to remember you saying the work was like scratching an itch.”

“Mm.” He nodded, taking another sip of wine before elaborating, “Criminal trials are always satisfying when they go my way, of course, but it’s not the _same_ being the one passing judgement rather than arguing the case. I’m less involved, I’m not allowed to form an opinion until both sides have had their say.”

She hummed, drinking from her own glass. “If you’d rather be the one doing the fighting, why don’t you resign? I like the money and prestige of being married to a councilor, but I’d rather you be happy.”

His subvocals laughed now, as his primaries hummed. “Oh, I just hate humans, you know,” he teased. “Haven’t you ever spoken with Ambassador Udina? Or watched any of their news? I’m a raging _cornin,_ bent on trampling humans at every turn. Never mind that my stance is _legally sound…”_

She snorted into her wine, and his hand moved from her waist to her shoulder, squeezing her briefly. “No, I’m just the only voice of _reason_ on the Council,” he said, nudging her head with his. “The matriarchs want Tevos to show the humans her throat, and Valern… Well, Valern can’t twitch a membrane without half the dalatrasses complaining, so he walks a fine line to keep majority approval. And _that_ jury is still out on what to do about humans.”

“And the empire?” she asked, now eyeing her glass. If she was careful, she might be able to down the rest in one go.

Ierian shrugged. “We do what we’ve always done. Strict constructionism at its finest, whether the aliens like it or not. _Somebody_ has to uphold the law. The law just happens to not be in the Alliance’s favor, so they think we just hate them.”

She snorted again, gaze roaming again. One headline caught her eye, and she smiled, reaching up to tap the edge of the frame with a talon. “I remember this,” she purred, looking at the accompanying picture of a salarian and an asari being led away from the court by police. “After this case was the first night you _fucked_ me.”

He jumped slightly at the word, then craned his neck to see. “Oh, I remember,” he said after a moment, leaning back down to press their frontal plates together. “It was the first _really_ major case I won, so we went out to celebrate, and, well…” He chuckled. “Look what’s become of us.”

She hummed, reaching forward with her mandibles to brush against his. “Married forty years, three kids…”

“I’m the councilor, you’re a senior reporter…” He hummed and turned, nudging her to face him fully. “We’ve come a long way, my starlight.”

She beamed at the old pet name, mandibles going up and out. Years ago, she would have been embarrassed by the expressions Ierian could draw out of her, but with time, she’d grown to not mind quite so much.

It certainly didn’t help that his favorite thing to tell her was that her smile could cure depression. She’d be the first to admit she was easily wooed by clichés.

He turned her away from the wall, and she let him tug her towards his desk so he could set his glass down. After a moment, she placed hers next to his, then leaned into his chest, resting her head on the lip of his cowl. “Have I mentioned recently I love you?” she murmured into the fabric.

Her now-empty hand didn’t stay that way. His free hand reached down to twine fingers with hers, and he guided her away from the desk, his other arm wrapped loosely around her waist. “Every night when I go to bed,” he murmured, “and every morning when I wake up next to you.”

Her mandibles fluttered, and she closed her eyes as they eased their way into a slow, swaying rhythm, dancing to music from another time and another place that they heard as if the wedding songs had only just been sung. “We’re going to be late to Mom’s birthday party,” she told his cowl.

A gentle pressure on the side of her head told her Ierian had decided to rest his on top of hers, rather than pull away. “We’ll tell her I had more paperwork than anticipated,” he assured her. “There’s nobody here to tell her otherwise- let’s savor the moment.”


End file.
